


Nearly There

by hearthope



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Confessions, Other, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-07-11 10:01:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15970043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hearthope/pseuds/hearthope
Summary: Bokuto Koutarou is too much, all the time.  Too much when he sends Keiji one of his victorious smiles after a solid spike.  Too much when his hands work out a kink in Keiji’s muscles during lunches they eat with just each other, now.  Too much when he stands so close while Keiji fixes his tie in the mornings before classes and tells them that their eyes are sogreen, didjya know that?Too much.  Keiji's feelings for Bokuto are too much.Confessing isn't quite as easy as it should be, Akaashi has found.





	Nearly There

**Author's Note:**

  * For [painpackerrisingsun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/painpackerrisingsun/gifts).



> FULLy inspired by [ginny's art](https://twitter.com/painpackerrs/status/1027008151579701248), which uhh ruined me, naturally, as is the standard,
> 
> [if you keep making my heart flutter,  
>  what do i do?](https://youtu.be/_5PELxP8Udg)

It’s a little embarrassing, Keiji thinks, that the first time they meet Bokuto, their mind freezes.

  


It’s in the middle of a downpour, the very first day of class. They’re soaked to the bone by the time they get to Fukurodani’s second gym at the end of the day. It’s not the ideal day to be holding initial club meeting, really, and Keiji’s willing to bet that there’s at least a handful of would-be prospective members of the volleyball team who skipped out entirely to avoid having to endure the weather. As it is, the gym isn’t totally empty, at least. Fukurodani’s standing volleyball club seems to be mostly present, and there are a few first years in the group as well. Not a terrible sign.

  


Keiji tries to shake off as much water as they can in the doorway, even if it won’t make much of a difference. The gym floor already has a scattering of puddles across it. Still, it’s the thought that counts.

  


They’re halfway through changing into gym shoes, trying to tug them on over their wet socks, when the door swings wide open behind them, sending in a cool rush of air. Standing in the doorway, two-tone hair dripping where it hangs down in his face with a breathless half-smile, a small part of Keiji’s mind recognizes Fukurodani’s ace. He comments — complains, more like — so loudly the whole gym can surely hear, that “I thought it was a rule that first days were supposed to be _nice.”_

  


Only part of Keiji registers any of this. The rest of them, as they stand, stuck in place for half a moment as Bokuto crosses the gym to his teammates, has short-circuited, and the only thing running through their mind is a solid, resounding _oh._

  


* * *

  


While Keiji becomes comfortable around Bokuto in the following weeks, with late practices and a handful of lunches spent with the team, they never truly settle. Half their mind always catches every time he smiles or laughs or throws a casual arm around their shoulders. It’s pathetic and Keiji knows it, this baseless _crush,_ but they can’t seem to rid themself of it either.

  


It’s worse, when they actually find themself becoming _friends_ with Bokuto. Because then it’s not just his smile or his laugh or heavens, the way his biceps flex when he’s going up for a spike; instead, it’s his drive to work harder and how he always picks up Keiji’s favorite flavor of Kit-Kat when he’s on a snack run with Sarukui and the endless stream of texts that always comes in when he’s watching his favorite drama, the same one he’s gotten Keiji and their brother hooked on.

  


Some nights, they come straight home from practice and drop onto their sister’s bed, groaning because seriously, _seriously,_ Bokuto Koutarou is too much, all the time. Too much when he sends them one of his victorious smiles after a solid spike. Too much when his hands work out a kink in Keiji’s muscles during lunches they eat with just each other, now. Too much when he stands so close — _so_ close — while Keiji fixes his tie in the mornings before classes and tells them that their eyes are so _green,_ didjya know that? Like really dark and pretty, like emeralds, like matcha Kit-Kats in the middle, too, hey, should we try to pick some of those up after school today?

  


Too much. Keiji’s feelings for Bokuto are too much.

  


Their sisters only laugh. “You’ve got a crush, Kei,” Rui laughs, poking at their cheek with a wicked grin.

  


“They’re in _love,”_ Kaori chimes in, ruffling their hair.

  


Back and forth and back again, endlessly, while Keiji lies sprawled across Rui’s bed, thinking about Bokuto’s _laugh._

  


* * *

  


There are times they think it’s going to slip out. That all these feelings that have built up are going to finally spill and Bokuto’s going to have to hear every last embarrassing thought Keiji’s had in the last year they’ve known him.

  


When it’s just the two of them after practice walking home together, and Bokuto’s rattling on about sea turtles the way he does when he’s nervous about an upcoming exam, and his hands are swinging at his sides and sometimes _sometimes_ they brush against Keiji’s, and Keiji doesn’t have to wonder what it’d feel like to hold Bokuto’s hand, necessarily, because Bokuto’s always taking up his teammates’ hands or pulling them into his lap or draping an arm tight around their shoulders, the touchiest person Keiji’s ever known — but Keiji _does_ wonder what it’d be to hold Bokuto’s hand there, in that moment. If Bokuto would carry on like it’s nothing, if he’d flash a smile, if he’d halt altogether. All they can do is muse about it. They never have the courage to actually make a go for it.

  


If not when they’re walking home together, late in the evening when Bokuto glows in the sunlight every time he laughs, then it’s on the bus after a game, or as they’re all cleaning post-practice. When Bokuto is loose and giddy and tired tired _tired, Akaash’, let’s hurry up so Washio can get us that ice cream he owes us, huh?_ There’s always an easiness about him, but especially when he’s worn out. His resting face is a quiet smile, half-drooping eyelids.

  


One day he’s going to catch on, Keiji thinks, if they’re not careful. It’s not like he’s stupid — Bokuto, really, is one of the most observant people they know when it counts for anything. He’s always the first to notice when Sarukui’s in a sour mood, because sure, he’s smiling, but he’s always smiling, it’s his shoulders, see? They’re tense. He knows when Konoha’s trying to hide the sweets he sometimes has with his lunch, always notes the fidgeting that results from him hoping no one will catch on and try to steal any of his dessert. Of course he’ll be the one to note that Keiji’s — god — in love with him. It’s simply a matter of when he’ll figure it out.

  


They try to keep it as secret as possible. Not like Komi, who always gets flustered around the girls he has crushes on and stumbles over himself. Or Konoha, who becomes magically nice. Onaga, whose ears turn bright red when he says anything at all to the manager of the girls’ volleyball team, or Yukie, who laughs just a _little_ too loud. Keiji won’t be obvious, won’t give Bokuto any cues to pick up on so long as they can help it.

  


Sometimes they worry they’re trying too much, that in attempting not to be excessively kind, they become rude. But every time the thought strikes, Bokuto’s blank expression turns bright with laughter, and he’s throwing an arm around their shoulders and telling them, “Funny, ‘Kaashi.” It’s everything as usual, everything as it should be, nothing to give away the fact that after Bokuto showed up to practice late one morning with his hair hanging loose in his face, shirt on backwards, Keiji composed a text of record length to Rui about the entire scene.

  


(She still brings it up, regularly, and there’s a part of them that fears the possibility that Bokuto might maybe possibly return some small aspect of their feelings, because if _that_ scenario ever plays out, it’ll be the very first thing Rui ever tells him. They can already picture her leaning in all conspiratorially, asking if _hey, did you know Kei’s written whole love sonnets about your hair?)_

  


(This thought haunts them. Completely.)

  


Maybe Bokuto already knows. Maybe he already has them pinned, has this entire time, and is purposefully making it so difficult. Maybe it’s intentional, how his thigh presses against Keiji’s when they’re sitting on the couch watching movies with Keiji’s siblings. Intentional, the way he later smiles when they’re alone in their room and he’s going on about the plot of it, and how it was like that other movie they watched with Konoha, or hey, that book, right? Like that book? The one you told me about, with the pigeons — you know, Akaash’. Intentional the way he leads Keiji to nod even though no, they don’t know, really, they weren’t even really listening, they stopped listening the second Bokuto leaned forward in his excitement and laid his hands on Keiji’s knees and didn’t move back after. They weren’t listening, because they were too distracted by how _close_ they are and what if? What if they asked, if they could kiss him, what would he say?

  


Their feelings — this awful crush — this love that twists them up inside so bad they barely find words to speak half the time — are always distracting them like this.

  


Is it supposed to be this hard? Keiji wonders, sometimes. They’ve seen a handful of confessions amongst their classmates, and if they can all work up the courage to admit all of that, shouldn’t Keiji be able to manage as well?

  


Maybe it’s about timing, they think. About finding just the right window, just the right conversation to bring it up.

  


(This thought goes out the window during lunch one afternoon, when they absentmindedly pass Bokuto one of the bright red mochi he’s been eyeing from Keiji’s bento since they sat down, and Bokuto’s eyes go wide with a, “You never share food, Akaash’.” There’s a smile, and then, “I must be pretty special, huh?”

  


Keiji comes close, then, to saying what they're thinking. That special doesn't even begin to describe their feelings. But they instead opt to take a long drink of water, keeping silent until Bokuto moves on to the next subject.

  


A perfect window, that they couldn’t take. Timing’s got nothing to do with anything.)

  


So maybe it’s about finding just the right words, to encapsulate all the feelings that are muddled in their chest. The perfect phrasing, so as to not leave anything out or to make anything unclear.

  


(Wrong. Or maybe not wrong, but to be right, it’d have to be possible, wouldn’t it? And Keiji’s certain, there’s no way to fully put into words everything they feel about Bokuto Koutarou, the patience he has with the first years and the enthusiasm with which he greets every practice, his ricocheting laugh, that it doesn’t matter how much he beats himself up for mistakes because he’ll always circle around to working on improving himself for next time, his smile his smile his laugh his biceps, still, Keiji’s _still_ on them, his fascination with cherry blossoms.

  


Surely, other people, somewhere, somehow, deal with all these same feelings for their own Bokutos, and they still manage to confess in some manner. So Keiji ought to be able to as well, even if they can’t lay everything out exactly precisely.)

  


Bokuto lays with his head in Keiji’s lap one afternoon as they study together, book in his hands that he’s not actually reading and hasn’t been reading for the last ten minutes. He’s just been staring at the same page, and Keiji knows it’s because he’s stuck on the English phrasing and is trying to work up the courage to ask them again for help, please—

  


And it’s courage, isn’t it? That Keiji doesn’t have. No courage, only this bundle of feelings and a mountain of fear because what if Bokuto _rejects_ them?

  


He wouldn’t be so cruel as to drop Keiji from his life. He’d still try to keep up their friendship, but it wouldn’t be quite the same. There’d be a rift, and Keiji doesn’t know if they’d manage it if they lost what they already have in any way.

  


It’s fear that keeps them from saying anything when they’re in Bokuto’s kitchen making dinner and it’s so quiet and Bokuto’s looking at them with that gentle, tired smile, and Keiji’s got the words right on the tip of their tongue. Fear that locks it all down when Bokuto drapes himself over Keiji’s back at the end of practice, chin on their shoulder and gaze tilted up at them, and it’d just take a turn of their head—

  


Fear fear fear that stops them from risking anything and everything at all.

  


* * *

  


It isn’t so long before Keiji figures out, the only way to beat this fear is with one that’s bigger. With a realization—

  


“I guess, I really do wish I could play more with everyone!”

  


—that things will change soon regardless.

  


* * *

  


It sticks in their mind even past the final spring tournament. Especially past the final spring tournament. When they see Bokuto less and less, because he has exams to study for and practice is no longer allowed to be at the forefront of things. It isn’t such a drastic change — they still end up spending evenings after together, hanging out on weekends, splitting Kit-Kats while they study — but it’s one Keiji feels regardless. The court feels much emptier without him.

  


They sit on their sisters’ bedroom floor late one night, sewing a button back onto Kaori’s uniform shirt, confessing that they don’t know what to do, when Bokuto will be gone entirely before they know it.

  


There’s a beat of silence, stillness, and then the twins are laughing at him, loud and snorting and rolling. Mocking.

  


“You’re so _overdramatic,_ Keiji,” Kaori says.

  


“Gone entirely,” Rui scoffs. “Puh-lease. He’ll still be in the city, you know.”

  


“We already made him promise to keep coming around. And that’s just _us,_ I’m sure he’ll still be talking nonstop with you.”

  


“God, Kei, you talk like uni’s the equivalent of the end of the world.”

  


“You’re both terrible,” Keiji tells them.

  


“We got it from you,” they reply.

  


Keiji knows they aren’t wrong, that Bokuto will still be around and that their friendship will remain. It’ll just be different. A lonely ache resulting from distance, from still talking, sure, just not as much, not enough, from the fear that Bokuto will meet other people he likes more than Keiji; as opposed to the ache that already sits in their chest every time Bokuto laughs and Keiji can’t bring themself to tell him that the sound is pure magic in the air.

  


Quiet moments between them feel weightier. When Bokuto sits at Keiji’s desk working through a math problem, brow furrowed and smile downturned with focus, all Keiji can do is silently stare and wonder if Bokuto really has no idea. If he really goes through his days not knowing a thing of the feelings mounting within Keiji’s ribcage.

  


Things are going to change, one way or another. Bokuto is leaving — not going far, not so far Keiji won’t be able to see him often, but enough that there will be a difference — and one way or another—

  


Timing. Timing is a thing and this, this is it. Before he leaves. If things are going to change anyway, Keiji may as well give themself some bit of control over how.

  


Fear and timing, the right words. Those still catch rough in Keiji’s throat every time they think to speak them. Walks home when they’re alone, weekends spent just in each other’s company out in the city with hands clasped between them, late nights crushed together on an otherwise empty couch. Nothing they think of feels right. It doesn’t feel fully honest. A simple _I like you,_ is not said so easily.

  


A month to Bokuto’s graduation, Keiji is the one wordlessly taking his hand as they walk to the theater. Bokuto says nothing, only smiles, bright and easy, and Keiji decides no, this is not the right moment. They don’t want to ruin their afternoon together.

  


Three weeks to the day, Keiji sits still and wordless as Bokuto leans forward to brush an eyelash off their cheek. They think, the distance is not so great. It would only take a couple centimeters, half a breath. But this, Keiji knows, is not the right way. Too cowardly.

  


Two weeks, and Keiji drops their head on Bokuto’s shoulder as they watch the latest episode of a cheesy drama on Bokuto’s bedroom floor. Bokuto tangles their fingers together between them. Keiji can’t organize their thoughts nearly well enough to even try to speak.

  


One week. The grass is still damp with rain, but they lay sprawled out across it regardless, watching the sky above their backyard. Lingering clouds drift across the blue, slow and wistful. They don’t really register when Bokuto shows up beside them, only that he’s there, chattering on about hermit crabs the way he does when he’s nervous. Keiji turns their head to look at him, gaze too focused on the sky overhead to notice. It’s quiet. Peaceful. The end of the line. A window presents itself, and the words are on the tip of Keiji’s tongue, what they want to say exactly precisely, and they’re a breath away from speaking them when Bokuto turns to look at them.

  


It’s not the time, they think. Now is not the time.

  


“You’re pretty quiet lately, y’know that, Akaash’?” Bokuto comments.

  


Keiji only nods.

  


When Bokuto leaves, minutes or hours later, they linger, door frame digging into their shoulder. One week. Things will change and it will not be on Keiji’s count.

  


Bokuto calls, later that same night, when they should both be sleeping but aren’t close to it at all.

  


“I’m kinda, like, restless,” Bokuto explains when Keiji picks up. “And I knew you were still up. Saru ratted you out. Said you were texting him ‘bout that pigeon book.”

  


“He just finished reading it,” Keiji says. “We were discussing.”

  


“Right, right.” Bokuto’s voice is low and tired, heavy with sleep that won’t quite come. “You alright, ‘Kaashi? You really are _really_ quiet.”

  


“Mm. I’m okay, Bokuto-san. I’ve just been thinking.”

  


“‘Bout what?”

  


It’s a simple question, that Keiji doesn’t even have to answer. Not even truthfully. Not even wholly. A window half-open that Keiji can close if they so please.

  


“I suppose about you, Bokuto-san,” they say instead. Truthful, as they should have been all along.

  


“Me? You’re thinking about me, Akaashi? What about me? Only good things, right?” Bokuto laughs, a subdued thing.

  


“I only ever think good things about you,” Keiji tells him. They lean their head against the wall beside their bed, eyes closed. Maybe, they can convince themself, this is a dream, where the regular limitations need not apply.

  


“You mean that?”

  


“I wouldn’t lie about it.”

  


Keiji can hear the smile in Bokuto’s voice when he replies, “I really _am_ special, huh, Akaash’? I knew it, you can’t hide from me.” The static of the call makes him sound even further, even sleepier. Dreamlike. It’s less real, than having him right in front of Keiji. “Hey, hey, you’re secretly in love with me, aren’tchya?”

  


“You caught me,” Keiji says, a twinge in their chest. If they told him, would he even believe them?

  


“I _knew_ it.” A sleepless laugh. “Hey, hey, we should go out sometime this week, right? Pick up some Kit-Kats, and a movie, or something. You wanna?”

  


Keiji lets the topic shift, lets their words fall away.

  


The call goes on another hour, Bokuto carrying most of the conversation. Keiji only half follows it, the rest of them wrapped up in the sound of Bokuto’s tired, low voice and the way he looked with January breath around his cheeks, accompanied with words of endings.

  


Endings and futures.

  


“I should probably let you sleep, huh?” Bokuto says, cutting off his own story about his library trip with his sister.

  


“You need to sleep, too, Bokuto-san,” Keiji tells him. “It’s late.”

  


“Yeah, yeah. I dunno. I’ll probably be up a while still.”

  


Keiji nods, even though there’s no one to see. “Rest sometime,” they say.

  


“I will, I will,” Bokuto promises. “G’night, Akaash’.”

  


“Good night, Bokuto-san.” Keiji pauses, not quite hanging up the call. They don’t check to see if Bokuto already has before speaking another, “Bokuto-san.”

  


There’s a short moment of nothing, and then, “Yeah?”

  


This isn’t the right moment. Not over a phone call. The words begin to wither. Not over the phone, not at two in the morning, not when it feels like it might be a dream and Keiji could wake up and find none of this was ever real. Not when Bokuto isn’t even here, even though it’s the closest he’s going to be for some time now.

  


“You are. Special, I mean. To me.”

  


Silence. Maybe Keiji imagined his initial response. Maybe the call did end, after all.

  


“I just thought you should know. Before you leave.”

  


Silence silence, fear and silence.

  


“Good night, Bokuto-san.” Still, Keiji doesn’t make a move to hang up the call.

  


“Akaashi. Akaashi . . . lets go out this week. Get some Kit-Kats, and a movie, or . . . yeah?”

  


Keiji feels the knot in their chest. Of course. Of course. Things will change, now, a week earlier than they should, but that’s, you know, that’s fine. They’ll adjust.

  


“Okay, Bokuto-san.” They lift the phone from their ear and lift a finger, towards the button to end the call.

  


“I mean, like! Like—“

  


Keiji stops. Brings the phone back to their ear.

  


“Like a date. I mean, y’know, you’re— You’re special, too, to me, Akaashi. So we gotta, at least one date before I go. And more after! If that’s, like, what you want, or . . . Are you still there? Did I hang up?”

  


“I’m still here,” Keiji says, voice too breathy, too wired for the middle of the night. “Just one?”

  


“Or two! Three! One every day of the week, if you want!” Bokuto’s voice lifts as he speaks, waking up, waking up, the sun rising.

  


A laugh tumbles from Keiji’s lips. “Of course, Bokuto-san. Of course.”

  


And Keiji can hear his smile when he says, “Okay. Okay! You should sleep, then, you should— Good night, Akaash’!”

  


“Good night, Bokuto-san.”

  


It’s all still real, when they wake up.


End file.
